


Syncopation

by Judithan



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mental Instability, Post-Game, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-26 04:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13849791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judithan/pseuds/Judithan
Summary: “Sync derives from syncopation, which is a general term for a disturbance or interruption of the regular flow of rhythm”A story about a mentally unfit, walking, living corpse trying to find an inkling of happiness.





	1. Revival

**Author's Note:**

> This story has very heavy themes of depression, anxiety, and all the fun stuff that comes with it. If that sort of thing is hard for you to read, consider giving yourself time before reading this. This story is also a personal outlet for my own depression and my desire to overcome it, so please take that into consideration while reading as well.

“...”

Who was there?

“...!”

What was this voice? Where had he heard it before? For that matter, when was the last time he heard anything? Where was he? It was all so dark, he couldn’t see.

“Sync.”

His name, but who was that? He tried to move his body, and could feel his limbs waking up from a slumber, pins prickling his skin as blood pumped through his arms and legs. It hurt, but it was bearable, and he could soon begin to see again, stars and glitter the only thing he could see. That is, until the figure emerged from the shadows, a faint light illuminating their features.

It was that replica, except, he was so different. Long hair, long white cloak, and a sad gaze that seemed lifeless in nature.

“Who… What?” Sync’s voice faltered in his own throat, like he hadn’t spoke in forever.

“You’re actually awake… I’m so glad…” The man’s voice was like something of a combination of Luke and Asch. He wasn’t one or the other it seemed… though it seemed like there was more to it then just that. Sync could hardly even process what he was seeing, or rather hearing. It seemed like a strange dream rather than reality, but the more he spoke the less of a dream it seemed to be.

“Where… am I?” This attempt at a sentence was a little bit better. More cognizant.

“Your eyes don’t seem to be working yet, but we’re in Tataroo Valley, it’s currently night time.” Luke’s voice comes through more openly, and Sync picks up on it. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been awake, last. In fact, it’s been several years.”

Several years?

“I don’t… remember when I was last awake. Wait…” The memories were starting to come back once his eyes seemed to be working better. Seeing this man’s face up close, seeing how the flowers bloomed, seeing his own body covered in blood. Everything was starting to make sense.

“I… I died, didn’t I?”

The thought hurts him. And it hurts him even more to know that this was the third time being given a life he never wanted, never asked to be burdened with. It hurt so much.

“...Yes.”

Nothing made sense. Even as he looked upon this person for answers, all he could see was sadness mirroring right back at him. Clearly, there was no answer to be given, and yet he couldn’t stop from asking. There had to be more to this than surface value. There had to be a reason. There  _ had _ to be!

“But… I’m alive again. How am I alive? Was I brought back to life?”

“Yes. I took your body from the planet storm and was able to piece it back together. It took a long time but you seemed the most receptive to the process.” Sync could barely understand what he was hearing. How had he even done that? Who was this man? What did any of this mean? It didn’t make sense.

All he knew was that he was alive again, through the meddling of this  _ person _ , and he was furious.

“Why was I brought back? Why only me?!” Dread poured into Sync’s gut, his heart dropping and his eyes wide in bewilderment. To think, another chance at a life he never wanted, when there were so many of his comrades who would have given anything for a second chance. “This isn’t  _ fair _ .” He could only scream in frustration, agony wailing into the night sky. It echoed into the valley.

“You were the only one I could save! The rest perished too long ago or were simply too exhausted to be saved. I’m sorry.” He can hear Asch’s angry growl mixed with Luke’s desperate plea. It’s horrifying to listen to and he can only look on, enraged and horrified. To think, this thing, this creature, would be the thing to revive him - disgusting.

“That doesn’t make it better!  _ ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t  _ **_cut it_ ** !” Sync is now sitting up fully, hands grasping at the man’s collar of his shirt. He pleads, angry, sobbing, upset. “I don’t deserve to live, and yet you couldn’t save Arietta…?  _ Legretta _ …?  _ Van _ ?!” He’s red hot by the end, knuckles white around the man’s collar. He’s so infuriated, yet so very empty. It hurts.

Even with the wind howling through the valley, Sync can still hear his own teeth chattering in rage, his heart pulsing in his ears.

“...It’s… I’m sorry, Sync.”

“...What a fucking joke.” Sync laughs to himself, a broken chuckle escaping his lips. “This is all too funny and yet I can’t even laugh… Pathetic.” He hangs his head low, eyes shut tight, fists tighter.

“...At least you can return.” The man offers, as if it’s some kind of consolation prize.

“Return to what? A world I was never invited into? A society that undoubtedly hates my very existence? Is that my reward for being brought back? Am I supposed to be  _ happy _ ?” Sync can feel himself starting to lose his breath from yelling, voice choking from holding back tears. He can’t stand it. This is such an absolute joke, and yet there’s no punch line. Nothing truly funny. Except here he is, forced to live the same misery again and again because the gift of life is something the Gods want to keep regifting him.

“It’s… a world of your own making.” Is all the man says before standing up, a look of scorn on his face, or possibly jealousy. “A world without a true Score, a world with no set destiny. If that was your true goal, then… yes. I would say you should be happy.”

The thought made Sync’s mind go blank. His entire life’s mission… it had succeeded, regardless of his own failure.

“A world without a Score…? We won? Van was victorious?”

“...He perished, as well as your comrades. But just by us existing, the Score has been undone.” His head turns towards the sky and Sync can no longer see his face. “2 years ago, I emerged from the planet’s core. I was no longer just myself, or rather, I was all of myself. I am both Luke and Asch, combined into one using the power of Lorelei.” He spoke quietly. “I am Lusch, a product of all three entities.”

“Lusch…?” It barely made sense, and even speaking the word made Sync’s head spin.

It was absolutely ridiculous, and yet none of it contradicted itself yet.

“I was in the planet storm…? I died…? And yet somehow after all this time you’ve revived me?” Speaking slowly, if only to try and piece everything together in a way that made sense. “I died  _ again _ , and yet somehow I’m still a living, walking corpse.  _ Again _ . How fucking fitting.” He laughed lazily into his own hand, finally starting to find the morbid humor in the situation. Lusch couldn’t share his sentiment but said nothing to dissuade his thoughts.

“I don’t know what I can do for you, but I know that your brethren are waiting for you to return home in Daath.” Sync looks up only to see a sympathetic smile on Lusch’s sad-eyed face. “Anise and Florian are both waiting for you to come home. I can feel it, in their thoughts, in their hopes. I can tell, they want to see you again.” 

The thought alone makes Sync’s stomach churn. Seeing either of them after everything he had done? A terrible idea.

“Is this a game you want me to play? Is that it?” Green eyes pierce Lusch’s soul, fire burning bright beneath them. “You want me to play this game of life and try to make something of myself, only for you to take it away again, is that it? You want to play God this badly? Well then, fine. I’ll go along. Except next time I die I better stay dead.”

“I-I accept. I won’t use my powers to interfere with you anymore.” His reply is sheepish, as if he wasn’t expecting this sort of response. Typical.

“...Good. I don’t need your help and I don’t want it.”

“At the very least, let me get you going in the right direction.” He hands Sync a small satchel full of what sounds like Gald. Sync looks at him with distaste but take it regardless.

“Tch.”

Despite the pain in his gut, Sync stands. Lusch extends a hand to help him to his feet but Sync refuses it, pushing him to the side as he gets up. It hurts, it hurts so damn much, but he pushes through it like some kind of masochistic idiot.

Lusch only stands to the side as he walks away, thinking aloud to himself, to the planet. He makes no effort to give chase, which Sync can only give the smallest of gratitude for.

“So here I am again, Auldrant. Unwanted, unneeded, and alive against my own will. What a joke.” He would have laughed at his own misery if not for the pain in his gut. “Do to me what you will.”

Truly, this was a cruel prank.


	2. Consideration

Arriving in Daath had been only a small ordeal. Boat fair, new clothes, lots of staring at himself in the mirror to try and figure out if this was real or not. He decided to eventually slap himself to see if it hurt -it did- and left it at that.

The cathedral looked as it always did, if not a bit more weather-worn since he had last laid eyes on it. Outside, the town was as busy as ever, if not even more so. He slipped through the crowds with minimal effort, finding his small size and lanky new height to be an advantage in getting through the bustle of merchants and soldiers going to and fro. Truly it had been several years since he had been back, he barely got by without people giving him an alarmed second glance. It was like they had seen a ghost. He laughed internally at his own bad, morbid joke.

Inside, there was an air of familiarity that made him almost repulsed. Things had barely changed, except for some minor architectural upgrades they had done - likely in an effort to distance themselves from the old Order that Sync had helped create. Wonderful.

Walking into the primary worship hall of the cathedral, he found the sixth replica of Ion; Florian.

This was going to be fun.

“Ion.” He started, still uncertain of his voice, how it had aged without him realizing.

The boy seemed incredibly startled, interrupted from a prayer it would seem. Turning around, he too had the same shocked expression of every passerby that happened to recognize him.

“S-Sync?!” Was all he could say, hands going between trying to reach out with uncertainty and staying strict to his tuning fork emblem. “It’s been… It’s been so long. So many years. You’re not an apparition are you?” Sync offered his arm, to which Florian touched to denounce his superstitions. “You’re really alive. Just… How?”

“By the powers that be.” He scoffed, clearly not taking himself seriously. It wasn’t a lie though.

“I… I don’t know what to say. You’re alive, after all this time. Have you come to… see me?” It’s clear Florian is uncomfortable at the notion, but still tries to smile through it. He has nothing but bitter memories of Sync, so it’s not a surprise to either of them.

Sync walks past him, eyes fixed on the stained glass window, angry, fists balled.

“I didn’t ask for this life. Ever. I never once asked for this. Yet… Lorelei wants me to continue to stay alive. Through the medium of Van, through Lu-” He cuts himself off. “Through… that damned replica.” It feels better on the tongue than trying to address him by name.

“You know… The Order may be different, but it’s still your home if you’ve got nowhere else to go.” Florian offers, voice low, kind.

Sync feels himself swallow hard, trying to keep his rage contained.

“I don’t need your pity.” He finally turns to look at Florian and notices the stern look on his face. Good. He wasn’t going to let him just meekly offer anything out of the ‘kindness of his heart’ or whatever it was the Order did these days.

“It’s not pity. It’s simply an offer of employment.”

“Employment?”

“I’m in need of strong officers who can handle their own. From what you’ve done for the old Commandant, I take it you can handle something like that?” His ploy his paper thin but Sync can’t find it in him to be angry about something like this. Yes, he can handle his own. In fact, he can handle himself better than any of the other God General’s could. He was far more objective, far stronger than any of them could have hoped to be.

To be praised by the runner up of his own demise, though, it felt insulting, but he would leave it be.

There was a time and place for this argument and he was far too exhausted to be having it now.

“Fine. But don’t expect me to be accepting any of your pity or handouts. I’m not here for your acceptance and frankly I don’t want it.” Sync spoke honestly and harshly. Florian could only stare back with a stern look and a small nod.

“I’m well aware of that. And trust me, I’m only offering this to you as someone who knows your capabilities.” Florian offers a small laugh, almost amused by this. “You’re a bitter person, rude, hardly stable enough for this kind of position. But I know you can handle yourself under stress, which is why I’m even offering. That, and I know Anise would be upset if I hadn’t at least offered.”

The jab to his state of being hurts more than he expects but all he retorts with is a nasty glare.

“You still hate me don’t you?” It’s not so much a question as it is an observation.

“I can’t say I’m fond of you, but hopefully now that your mission has been more or less completed, you can find some sense of peace for yourself.” Sync can barely hold back the bitter laugh at his comment and earns himself an eye roll in response.

“I doubt it. There’s no peace on this planet for trash like myself.”

“...Regardless. You’re free to stay here as long as you need. I’ve left your room and the other God General’s rooms unaltered. It should be just like how you left it.” Florian comments, and Sync can feel himself getting more and more annoyed. “Maybe a bit more dust then before, but… you understand.”

“The key?”

“You can get it from the head of housing, he should be in his office, I assume you know how to get there?” Before Florian is done speaking, Sync is already walking off.

“I’ll find it on my own.”

“Alright. Good to have you back, Sync.” Florian stops him, trying to give the most honest, earnest compliment he can. It’s transparent at best and the discomfort on his face is as easy to read as the light of day. Clearly, this was nothing but bad news for the poor, defenseless Fon Master, but Sync couldn’t care less.

If anything, if his existence made those around him more miserable, the better.

“Don’t get into the habit of telling lies; you’re really bad at it.” He could only laugh, walking away with confidence that he hadn’t hardly known before. This kind of power, to just show up and take command of a situation, demand whatever he wanted on account of being dead  _ again _ , it was rather refreshing if he had to be honest. 

To think, all he had to die and suddenly people would bend to his every will. At least, the first time it didn’t seem to work too well, but this was different.

No Score, no meddlesome Replicas to hide his identity under, nothing telling him what to do or where to go. That horrible replica Lusch was right, this was a whole new world. And he was going to take every little thing he could. Not because he deserved it, but because everyone else on the miserable planet deserved even less.


	3. Temperance

The beginning of his occupation and employment for the Order is awkward in all tenses of the word. New recruits don’t listen to his commands due to his young age with ‘where did this kid come from and who is he to tell us what to do?’ and old recruits scorn him for merely existing. To say the least, he’s had a long couple of weeks of wiping them all into shape and scraping some jaws under his heels.

Of course, Florian had given him more than an earful for being too harsh on the recruits, but Sync could only roll his eyes.

“If they can’t even handle my training, then what’s to say they’ll even survive a single battle.”

Florian silences after that and allows him to continue his training, and within another week they’ve already shaped up faster than he thought. It’s pleasant, to finally get the semblance of a fair fight.

It’s been a long day in the training grounds, but he’s finally decided to call it a day, heading back out of the cathedral. The day still has some light to it, not much though, and he decides that maybe he can get away with going to the market for something to eat. That is - until he sees  _ them _ .

Smiles and grins and familiarity that he detests.

Anise Tatlin, wonderchild brat, and that pitiful servant who he had placed under a curse slot. Guy Cecil, was his name? It escapes him for the most part, but he’s pretty sure that was it.

For a split second, he considers running and going the long way around, just to avoid having to speak to them. He knows how annoying they are, and knows that it absolutely won’t end well for any of them.

“Sync?!” And then Anise spots him. It’s too late to run. Even if he tried, she would just spring after him and then he would have to listen to her for even longer.

If he just puts up with them, and gives cold, uncaring responses, maybe, just  _ maybe _ , they’ll leave quickly.

Anise rushes up to him, eyes wide and mouth somewhat ajar.

“I heard rumors, but here you are! In the flesh!” She sounds somewhere between amazed and horrified and Sync can’t really blame her. “I would ask ‘how’ but honestly, some part of me knew I would end up seeing you again. You’re pretty tenacious, yknow.”

“I would say ‘nice to see you, too’ like any normal person, but frankly I don’t really care to see you.” He smirks into it and she puffs up her cheeks. Still a kid, it would seem.

“Boo! You’re just being mean!” It’s now that Guy finally catches up to her - having not ran up the stairs of the cathedral. “Tell him he’s being mean, Guy!”

“Hey, now. I don’t know anything about anything. How about we start over on a better foot, hmm?” The blonde is all smiles and sunshine, just like how he always was. Well, when he wasn’t writhing in pain from the curse slot or attempting to slaughter his friends in a rage-blinded frenzy. But, whatever. What did Sync know? “Sync, it’s a surprise to see you again, to say the least.”

“What can I say? The Powers That Be apparently want me to walk the earth in eternal misery as my punishment for being a Big Bad Man so many years ago. It’s a fair punishment, honest.” There’s a bit of tasteless sarcasm in there, and Guy and Anise only look at each other uncomfortably in response, trying their hardest to find humor in it. It’s funny, though.

“Yknow Sync, I had heard rumors that you had come back and all, but I didn’t actually believe it until now.” Anise states, arms behind her back, inspecting Sync with a keen eye. “I would say you’re much more handsome now. Wouldn’t you say so?”

“Much more mature, that’s for sure.” Guy offers, that sunshine smile still stuck on his face.

“I’m not here for your friendship, I’ll have you know. Just because my mission isn’t to murder you and your dumb friends doesn’t mean I have any intention of being buddy buddy with you.” This gets him a salty huff from Anise, not that he really cares. Fine, let her be angry. It was of very little consequence to him, unless of course it made her want to talk to him more. That could prove to be a headache.

“I know, I know. It’s not like you’re much fun to be around anyway. You’re so mean.” Anise puffs up her cheeks at him like she’s some prepubescent teenybopper. “Whatever, I’m only here to talk to Florian, anyway.”

“I’ll see you around!” Is all she says before bouncing off, a hop in her step.

“I suppose that’s my cue to follow her. Uh,” In some attempt at a conversation, Guy lingers behind. “I know you’re not exactly best friends with Anise, clearly, but try to go easy on her.”

“That  _ was _ going easy.”

“Oh.” Guy stutters a bit. “Regardless, she’s been through a lot, you could do to be… I don’t know, a bit nicer?” The smile that was once sunshine on his face is now an exasperated, tired expression. Clearly, this isn’t a conversation he was looking forward to, or even planning on at all.

“If I act nicer will that get you to leave me alone?” Sync has just about had it with all of these goodie-two-shoe idiots trying to weasel their way into his business. Only been around for mere weeks and he can’t even get some damn peace or quiet. 

“Sure.”

“Then yes. I’ll be nothing but rainbows and sunshine.”

“Ha… You’re impossible. Anyway, be seeing you around.” He gives a smirk, wink, and salute, and is jogging off towards where Anise disappeared to.

Sync can only kick himself in hindsight for agreeing to ‘be nicer’ to Anise, as if the girl wasn’t nothing but a walking migraine-giving-machine. Honestly, so noisy and obnoxious. But at the very least her older age seemed to mellow out her voice a bit, and she didn’t have nearly as much of a ‘cutesy’ attitude to her. Though that was the least of his worries.

Now that the two of them knew he was back, it was only a matter of time before the rest of that band of miscreants knew of his return.

To be fair, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do but to bicker with them, but that seemed like a whole lot of wasted air for no good reason. Though, did his existence even have a good reason? No. Not really.

He was still trash that had no right to exist.

...That didn’t make him any less hungry though.

He needed to get some food in him.


	4. Berserker

It wasn’t long before Sync saw Guy once more. It was just outside of Daath, the forest that stood between the main city and the pier. Most people avoided cutting through it, knowing there were monsters inside, but for those who could handle their own in a fight it was a quick cut through. At least, it must have been considering that the two of them had chose the same day same path to cut through, effectively -but not literally- bumping into each other.

It didn’t help that Sync was already in a pissy mood.

“You again.” Sync scowled.

“Oh, Sync. Wasn’t expecting you here, but I guess you can handle yourself against monsters, huh? It would make sense that you would use  the same shortcut as me, haha.” On the opposite side of the small clearing, Guy isn’t smiles and sunshine like he was the last time.they spoke, but there’s a look of calm to him that pisses Sync off to no end.

It’s clear he doesn’t see him as a threat. That’s a mistake he won’t make twice.

“How about it, you want to go a round?” Sync taunts, eyes narrowing with a toothy smirk. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. Maybe it was just the lack of any real challenge since he had been resurrected. Maybe it was that he wanted to show Guy his place. Maybe it was just sheer boredom.

“What, like a fight? I haven’t had a good sparring match in awhile, I suppose it could be fun.”  It’s clear that Guy is perplexed, but isn’t opposed. He pulls taught on his gloves, tightening his grip on them and his sword.

Sync lowers his stance, fists tight, ready to pounce.

“Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you.” There’s a bit of humor to his voice, but in no way is Sync joking. This is going to be a real, honest fight. No two ways about it.

“Good. I wouldn’t expect you to.” He draws his sword.

In a flash, Sync strikes, fists bright with fonic artes pounding hard into Guy as he attempts to defend against the sudden barrage. Eventually he pushes hard enough to get Sync back a few feet and landed an arte of his own.

The slash stings, but Sync doesn’t hardly wince. He doesn’t have time if he’s going to get the upper hand.

“That all you got?” Another intense arte shoots out of Sync, and his extended boot barely misses the connection of Guy’s jaw. He curses to himself under his breath, scrambling against the bramble of the woods to find footing.

It wasn’t long before Sync was wailing another round of punches on Guy, and what he noticed as a result was nothing if not infuriating. The bastard wasn’t even fighting back. He was just rolling with the punches - literally- and only doing his best to feign off the attacks. Oh no, no, _no_ , that was absolutely _not_ how this fight was going to go. No way, no how. Sync was going to get a fair fight even if it killed him.  


“Is that the best you’ve got?” He yells, another strong arte connecting to Guy, but the triumph doesn’t last for long.

His arm gets locked under Guy’s grasp, the blunt handle of his sword ramming straight into Sync’s gut.

It hurts.

He howls from the pain, feeling as if something had ruptured inside of him, his lungs and heart failing him.

For a second he pulls back, cradling his stomach in his hands before building up for another attack. A strong hit like that wasn’t nearly enough to get him to back down and the two of them both knew it. It would take a whole entire world of hurt to keep him down.

“Don’t think you’ve won just yet.” Sync can feel the fonons rushing through him as he lets out an arcane arte, a gust of power ramming into Guy and he can barely stabilize himself in time for it.

Just as he’s about to try and recover from the shock of his arte, Guy is already there, sword drawn ready to strike. He’s clearly haggard from the fight, but doesn’t give any indication of backing down. Good. Sync hadn’t expected him to just give up without a challenge.

That is, until he’s plagued by a flashback, a memory; one that he had repressed since he’d awoken.

A vision. Their last duel. Guy’s blade covered in his blood.

The scar on his face… it was his doing.

His eyes start to swim with rage, his vision blinded by blood and agony. The memory feels like it’s alive again, the bridge of his nose scalding under touch.

“What in the-” Guy stops his oncoming attack, caught off guard by the sudden, wild actions of the replica. If anything, he looks afraid. Not that Sync can exactly see, but if he had to describe him that would be his choice of word.

“You…” Sync starts, voice low, hands pulled up over his face clutching to the scar. “This scar… it was you that did this to me, right?”

“I-I think so.” The look of abject horror on Guy’s face is one that wouldn't be fast forgotten.

“You were the one that killed me. I should be thanking you, for ridding my existence from the planet. But no.” Sync channels an energy through him that he had not felt in so long. The power of the Fon Master, the thing that would theoretically rip his body into shreds if he tried to fully unleash it. “I’m stuck back here again. Alive. Miserable. Anticipating the moment I’ll die again, but this time I’m without a cause. I’m just a worthless existence of life, so come! End me!” The feeling of power is boiling over, his skin feels red hot, either from rage or an excess of energy he wasn’t sure anymore.

Without another word, he pounces, legs faster than Guy can even blink and he’s trying with all his might to block each kick as it comes. It doesn’t take long for Sync to exhaust his upper limit, and try as he might he can’t keep at the shrill speed he started at. He tries to keep up the pace, keep attacking, keep him busy, just long enough to get another arte ready.

And then, the ground falls up from under him.

Fighting in the cliffy hills of Daath’s continent was a dangerous game to play and this time Sync lost the bet. 

He curses as he begins to fall, the impending sense of dread swallowing any other emotion whole. Fortunately, Guy is there to pick up the pieces. Sword struck firm into the ground, Guy grabs onto Sync by the waist, holding onto him as tight as he can.

“Y-you idiot! Now we’re both going to fall!” Sync screams, trying his best to not writhe out of Guy’s grasp.

“Not if you hold on tight!” Through clenched teeth, Guy manages to still sound confident. Though, by some miracle of strength, he succeeds.

Through sheer force of will alone he pulls Sync back up onto stable ground.

“You didn't have to help me.” Sync says after a long pause. This is so stupid. It shouldn't have worked out this way. To ask Guy for a fight, end up losing, and not only that but  _ helped _ when he made a fatal error of his own undoing?

This was so…  _ irritating _ .

He didn't need help. He didn't want it. If his lack of a plan lead to his own death then so fucking be it.

“Is that what you feel?” Guy asks, and Sync finally snaps back into reality.

He had been speaking his thoughts out loud the entire time. His face turns red with embarrassment and fury. What had gotten  _ into _ him?

The swordsman seemed to have nothing but sheer concern in his eyes but Sync couldn't have cared less. 

“Do you need help?” Guy extends a hand out to help him up, but Sync refuses. He pushes the hand away, gets up on his own, and continues to walk off in the initial direction he had been going before this embarrassment of an encounter. Guy gets up shortly after and begins to walk after him but stops short.

Soon, Sync can only hear his own footsteps. He had gotten far enough away to relax, if only just a moment.


	5. Mirage

Weeks have passed since Sync last saw the living nuisance that was Guy Cecil. In fact, it had been weeks since he had seen any of his old nemeses. Ever so often he would see Anise in passing, but he didn’t dare speak to her of his own volition.

Talking to the brat was like an invitation for trouble, and he was most certainly trying to avoid that.

Holed up in his room, working on endless paperwork and the occasional report to read from his underlings, he hadn’t had much for company for a while. Good. That was exactly how he liked it. True solitude and peach, the one commodity he was always at a shortage of.

A knock resounded on his door.

“Sigh…” If he rolled his eyes any harder they may have popped out of his head.

Just as he was thinking how nice it was to be left alone for so long.

He gets up from his desk, opening the door only to find a helmeted soldier with a package in his hands, extended outwards toward Sync.

“A package for you, General Sync.” A man from the old Order, it would seem. Sync smiled grimly, taking the package from the terrified man’s hands. Upon inspection, it was a simple brown box with nothing more on it than a shipping address for Sync. Odd.

“Where was this delivered from? On top of that, is there no name for the sender?” He turned it over in his hands, and noticed there was a very distinct weight to it.

“I-I’m sorry, no.” Sync gave him a glance. “N-no,  _ sir _ .” It was amusing seeing the underlings cower under his stare.

“Fine. Dismissed.” With a wave of his hand, the soldier immediately relaxed and attempted to retreat with as little attention to himself as possible. It was funny to watch, but there were more important things to worry about. This package… just what was it? He closed the door, setting the box carefully onto his desk. He uses a letter opener to remove the packaging, and inside finds something he hadn’t expected.

A small Fon machine.

It wasn’t extremely intricate, and had plenty of signs of wear. Who in the hell would even send something like this to him, though? Surely it wasn’t Anise or Florian, neither of them would have bothered with anything like this, and all of the officials that Sync had met with lately were far too hoity toity to send something as beat up as this.

And then the thought dawns on him; that idiot swordsman, Guy. Somewhere along the way Sync had learned of the man’s interest in Fon machinery, likely from Anise or that damn failed replica. Either way, to send something like this? What did it even do?

With a little bit of tinkering, Sync figured out the power mechanics for it - a small wind up function on the back of the machine.

It was a music box.

It was nothing if not a kind gesture, perhaps some form of apology for their previous tussle, and Sync couldn’t help the feeling of wanting to smash it into the floor. Of course, the music it produced was pleasant enough to listen to that he could withhold his own impulsiveness. If anything it was actually… kind of nice. It wasn’t often he got to hear music, let alone at his own convenience.

He tried his best to keep his face neutral, unimpressed, annoyed, but no matter what he did he couldn’t help the smile that crept onto it.

Resuming his paperwork, it was easy to slip into a pattern and before he knew it the stack was finished and the moon was already poking its head up.

“This late already?” He stretches out his stiff arms and legs.

The music box had long since gone silent, but he doesn’t wind it again. Instead, he leaves it be and reaches for his coat.

“I’ve been stuck in here all day… A walk should do me some good, right?” He bargains to himself. Realizing what he’s done, he can’t help but feel annoyed. Talking to himself like it’s some kind of way to have a conversation. Talk about pathetic. He really did need to go out, even if there wasn’t much of a night life to be seen around Daath.

This sort of thing wasn’t uncommon for him; a late night stroll to take his mind off of the bores and snores that was work. It was the closest thing to recreation he had besides beating the shit out of the new trainees.

Among the city is nothing out of the ordinary. An occasional drunk, the stationary soldiers keeping the peace, the merchants that kept going far past when was necessary. It was all so common place, but in a sense so was he. A figure that would blend into the nightlife like it was nothing. He liked the idea.

It wasn’t even too hot out yet, either, still a nice temperature from the winter months.

“Ha…” For once, he finds himself being able to relax.

And then he sees  _ him _ , out of the corner of his eyes.

A high ponytail, wild brown hair, a posture that demands authority, and the emblem of an outfit he had not seen in years. In all intents and ideas, it was Van. In the blood? In the body? He couldn’t tell for certain.

All he knew is he had to follow, he had to make sure. Could he have also been revived by that abomination of a replica?

“Van?” He tries, but gets no response.

Rounding the corner as fast as he could, he sees the tail end of the man, walking from him faster than was humanly possible without running. Was he running? Sync couldn’t tell anymore. His pulse was racing in his head, his eyes tired. There’s nothing telling him if this is reality or just a dream, anymore, but he can’t help but to give chase.

Eventually, he starts running after the man, bumping into the occasional drunk, but he doesn’t care. He has to catch up.

He has to  _ know _ .

“Van!” He calls out. Around him, the vendors and soldiers give him strange looks, but he doesn’t care, he keeps running after him.

The man doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even acknowledge he had spoke.

With another turn of another alley, he’s gone. No trace of his existence left, not a footprint or strand of hair, not even an eye witness considering the looks he got. Was he nothing more than a mirage?

Sync’s head hurts, and he clutches it.

This all had to just be an effect of that damn replica, toying with his perception and making him see apparitions. That had to be it. Either that or maybe it really was just his exhaustion from a long, boring day’s work catching up to him. It had to be something like that, there was no other way around it. He refused to believe anything else.

Even if there was a way for Van to have returned, for no one to have noticed? It was so unlikely. Impossible, even. There was no way he could have been back, it must have just been his eyes playing tricks on him.

That was it. It had to have been it. All he needed was to get some sleep and forget he saw anything. It would all fix itself by morning.


	6. Apparition

Akzeriuth. The destroyed city that was once a prosperous miners town. Now, it was nothing but a relic of man's folly, an odd to arrogance.

For some reason unknown to Sync he had been instructed to investigate the town. Search for any inkling of life, any shred of hope. It was unlikely at best.

Sync walked through the town, soldiers in tow, his face covered in a mask to try and avoid as much miasma poisoning as he could. Of course, if they went deep into the mines it was unlikely the thin face mask would be of much help but Florian had insisted.

The town was quiet, eerily so, and even the briefest of scuffs and lightest of breezes could be heard clear as day. If it wasn't for the everpresent scent of death and miasma, Sync may have enjoyed to stay for longer.

“Sync.” He hears one of his subordinates call to him, but looking back neither of them are even close. In fact, neither of them seemed to even be paying attention to him.

It must have been his imagination, or maybe they were playing pranks. If that were the case they wouldn't be at it for long.

“Which one of you called for me?” Sync demands, and the two soldiers look at each other bewildered.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Neither did I.”

They seem to be telling the truth but Sync can't help but glower. Jokes like these weren't tolerated on or off the field, as far as Sync was concerned.

“Whoever it was, you better own up or-” he feels something brush past him, like the gust of someone rushing past him. But that wasn’t all - a feeling of something passing through him, straight into his soul. It filled him with dread, the same feeling as when he had seen  _ him _ . No. That couldn’t be it. Here, of all places? There was no way.

He turns back around, ignoring the strange looks from his subordinates.

With little regard for his own safety, he rushes into the mines, ignoring the cries of his subordinates to not go. He doesn’t care. All he’s thinking about is confirming his suspicions of what that feeling meant. Sure enough, at the end of a long stretch of the mine is the dimly lit figure of the man he had hoped and dreaded to see.

Van.

Without a second thought he chased after him at full force. Behind him he can still hear the echoing pleas of his subordinates to come to his senses and come back out of the mine but he ignores it wholeheartedly. This is more important than anything else. To see his old Commandant again, to learn anything about the meaning of his existence, no matter how small and inconsequential, he had to do this.

He  _ had _ to follow Van, even if it meant his own demise.

All he sees is the back of his head, the trail of his cape, never his face. The further in they go the harder.and harder it is for Sync to breathe. The miasma has gotten thicker than anticipated and far faster too. He can hardly function, but he continues to chase after the Commandant.

Eventually he realizes that he's being lead to the remains of the Sephiroth, but he can't find it in himself to continue on.

This is it.

“Van… what did you bring me here for?” Is all he can manage. 

The Commandant finally turns around, and Sync feels his stomach drop at the sight of the hollow eyed man. He can't run anymore. He can't get away.

He's going to be eaten alive by this specter masquerading as his leader.

He braces for the impact.

It never comes. When he finally dares to open his eyes, he's no longer in the mines.

It's dark, and he can barely tell his surroundings. For a moment, he tries to move his body, but he’s too weak to really lift himself up, and there are too many needles and tubes stuck into his arms to really get very far. Looking around, he notices machines attached to the needles in his arms - now revealed to him to be IVs - and it’s upon this observation that he realizes he’s landed himself in a hospital.

Great.

Judging by the insignia and military influence on the hospital, he would guess he'd been taken to Kaitzur. Not exactly a faulty decision on his soldiers parts, but he curses at himself for his own incompetence.

“Letting myself get so worked up like that… talk about embarrassing.” He whispers to himself, ashamed at his own behavior.

It had been weeks since he had last seen this visage of Van, or what he thought could be him, but now he wasn't so sure. A specter that shows up only in the darkest of nights or the imagination of an overworked General. Either way was by no means good, but to think he would let it get to him like this. It was just… Embarrassing.

He can't help but bury his face in his hands.

From the other side of the room he can hear the door open, a figure stepping inside.

Looking up, he freezes.

“Lusch.”

Was this the reason for the visions? Was it a failed revival by means of this abomination? It had to be. What other reason could there possibly be?

“Are you the reason I'm here? Did you revive your old Master? Trying to lap up his attention like the dirty dog you are?” Hot venom spits from Sync’s mouth in the form of nasty, vile words. Lusch however seems more or less unaffected by the words. Either used to this treatment or admitting his guilt through action -or rather lack thereof.

“I… I didn’t do anything to or for Van.” Is all he says, voice sad but honest. It just pisses Sync off even more.

“I just wanted to come see if you were okay.” Lusch finally says, a faint smile on his lips, barely visible in the dim lighting.

“And who told you where to find me, hmm? Or for that matter how did you get in here?” They’re all completely valid questions, but Lusch only looks away in response. “I thought you said you weren’t going to interfere with my life anymore.”

“...” He looks away, as if ashamed of himself.

Sync just gets more annoyed at the lack of a response, but decides it’s not worth his time or effort to get angry. He should just sleep it off and pretend the bastard never came. That would be easier for everyone, after all.

A long silence draws on.

“I’m sorry.” Is all Lusch can manage to say.

Sync lets out a deep cough, his lungs rattling in his chest. It hurts, but Lusch doesn’t dare say anything out of concern. It’s not his place and he knows it.

“Are you even real? Is he even real? Is any of this…?” Sync doesn’t want to hear it, though, and clenches his eyes shut. Knuckles turn white as he grips into the cheap hospital bedding. The tension makes his veins pulse around the IVs, but he doesn’t care. The hurting helps to keep him grounded. If nothing else, the pain is real.

Lusch doesn’t answer, only gives him a forlorn look before leaving the way he came.

In the darkness, he’s left to his own thoughts, and he longs to hear the song of his music box once more.


	7. Homesick

It wasn’t long before Sync had been transferred back to Daath. The hospitalization was to last at least another week, until they could be certain that he wasn’t a threat to his subordinates and also to himself. Most importantly, though, they had to make sure the miasma hadn’t worn on his health too much.

The doctors knew he wasn’t built to last, but he couldn’t care less. Go on, let him meet his maker again, it’ll be like greeting an old friend.

Anise had other sentiments, though. She couldn’t believe he had gone and been so reckless, especially with a small battalion under his command.

“You need to be more careful!” She whined.

“It’s not like you can go marching off to your own death without any concern in the world, you have a _job_ to do!” She went on and on.

“What were you even doing down there?” She was beginning to get on his last nerves.

“It’s none of your business.” He spat back.

“Grah! Whatever! Do whatever you want! Don’t come crying to me when you get hurt, though!” She huffs and puffs her cheeks up like she used to do when she was younger and suddenly she looks like the same scared little kid Sync was so used to seeing. He remembers how he used to torment her and thinks briefly of doing the same thing, but he doesn’t even get the chance to before she’s storming out. Typical brat.

It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter.

The week passes in a slow, uneventful blur, days blending into other days blending into sleepless nights. It’s all so routine and he’s bored out of his mind by the end of it. When he’s finally sent home, fully discharged, he takes his time returning.

Twilight touches the town, giving it a beautiful orange glow. The wind isn’t too strong, in fact, it’s a beautiful day out. Regardless of how miserable and sickly Sync is, he can still appreciate the calm, gentle weather when it arrives. It’s nice. If anything, it’s one of the few things he takes joy in.

That is, until his time out is interrupted by nuisances.

Specifically the kind with blonde hair and sunshine smiles.

“Sync, long time no see.” Talking as if they’re acquaintances, Guy is nothing but excited to see the General. Sync simply does not understand.

“Yeah. I’d like to keep it that way.” It’s dry, but Guy still chuckles at it.

They both know he means it literally, but clearly Guy wants to imagine it’s more of a joke than it is. Whatever. It really was of no consequence as long as he fucked off and quick.

Fortunately, they had bumped into each other along an empty side road, no peering eyes to judge their interaction. Of course, Sync couldn't care less what people had to say about him, but it was nice not having to think about any of those polite pleasantries he was always scolded about for not having.

“Hey, I heard from Anise that you were in the hospital. Good to see you're doing better.” Sync can feel his gaze turn into a glare.

“She told you?” Is all he can manage, annoyed and exasperated.

“Yeah, said you went into Akz- that you got bad miasma poisoning.” Sync can hear the slip up plan as day, and the fact that it was a slip up and not just a simple fact of the matter annoys him even more. Yes he went into Akzeriuth. Yes he was a dumbass. Yes he paid the price for it.

Not exactly novel concept: that your actions have consequences. Though, that was something a certain replica didn't seem to understand.

“I did.”

Guy fiddles every so slightly with the hem of his shirt, clearly caught off guard by his forwardness. It wasn't exactly like the ordeal was a secret. Anise made sure of that.

“Ah. So, you're doing better now, I take it?” Guys starts, before getting distracted by his own thoughts. “Oh yeah, how did you like that music box I sent you? I found an old one in some scrap and fixed it up. I thought you might like-”

Sync interrupts him.

“Yes. I'm just fine and dandy. Yes. The music box is pleasant to listen to. No, I do not want to be friends. In fact, I would really prefer it if you fucked off with your intrusive questions and left me alone forever.” Sync is blunt and he can see the hurt on Guy’s face from his words.

“I'm just trying to-”

“I don't care.”

“Hey, there's no reason to be a dick.”

“Maybe not, but you know what? That's not going to stop me. Because let's face it, there's not much I'm good for, so I might as well make myself as mean and nasty as I can be.” Sync can see the look of distrust on Guy’s face, the same look Anise gave him when he had mocked the deceased For Master. He hadn't cared much then and now? Maybe slightly more. Maybe just an ounce more of care.

Not much though.

“I know you're saying that to put up a tough act, and I don't know if I’m really falling for it.” Guy says, acting as though he's certain.

“Yeah? Well guess what; you don't fucking know me.” He practically spits venom at the man, and his only response is a sad, knowing smile. It infuriates Sync to no end.

Without another word he storms off, and wants nothing more than to be home already.

Ha, calling it _home_ like it meant anything.

A room in the cathedral, basic commodities, it was hardly special, it was hardly even decorated. But… it was still where he came 'home’ to.

And the thought of him silently hoping for Guy to stop him, to part with him any words saying contrary to what he spouted. It was pathetic. Truly, honestly pathetic.

All he wanted was to pass out on his bed and shove a pillow so hard into his face he passed out from it. Not exactly productive, not exactly sane, and by the time he arrived 'home’ he had expelled the thought from his mind immediately. It wasn't like him to do such drastic things to himself. He let outside forces take care of that for him.

“Putting on a tough act… what does he know?” Sync repeats to himself, mocking the swordsman as he spoke.

What did he know?

Getting dressed into more comfortable attire, he sits in his bed, cozy under his comforter, clutching tight to the music box.

He winds it up.

“...What do I even know about myself?”

He lets the soft plucking of the notes lull him to sleep. That night, he dreams of what he would call home. He dreams of a better life.


	8. Mirrors

The afternoon was humid in the cathedral. He had found himself nestled into the tucked away drawing room that was far from the main lobby, paperwork and legal gargin scattered across the table that he, Anise, and their accompanying guest of Jade Curtis of Daath, sat at. The three of them had been long at work on this paperwork, somehow managing to have been pulled in together.

Some kind of policy document about trade and taxes, the kind of thing Sync dreaded having to preside over. Unfortunately, he was the only acting general remaining in Daath for this week, the rest were to be stationed elsewhere. So here he was stuck, between a necromancer and a nuisance of a young girl.

At the very least, time seemed to go quickly while listening to the two of them.

It all sounded like a whine and drone when they spoke, something about this, something about that, and he couldn’t exactly follow on.

“Come on, Sync, we need you to stay focused, alright?” Anise chirps, and he can barely contain a glare in her direction.

“It’s alright, we’re near finished. If the young man needs some rest, he’s welcome to-” Jade tries to chime in, a devious smile across his lips.

“Not a chance. I’m here for a reason.” Sync snaps back, annoyed at the man’s accusation of laziness.

“Haha, that’s the spirit!” He chimes, and Sync has to physically restrain himself to not beat the hell out of the man. Though, considering how strong he is now, he isn’t exactly certain he’d be able to win in a one-on-one with the old coot. Regardless, he wouldn’t give in an ounce.

Thinking back to his one-on-one match with Guy, he’s still not sure why he had done it. To prove himself? Maybe. For the thrill of a decent fight? Sure. It was a fun little bought while it lasted, at least, for the most part.

The man’s infuriating smile, though…

‘Do you need help?’ Sync remembers his question like it was just yesterday, but it had been so many days, weeks. And yet, the memory stayed on repeat in his head.

It was so infuriating, or at least it should have been. In reality, he didn’t mind the thought.

He didn’t mind the idea of Guy helping him.

...What the actual fuck?

What was he thinking? Letting that man help him? Enjoying the idea of it? What in the hell was he thinking, acting like that? This was either some sick joke his tired mind was playing on him or he had most certainly lost it. Either that or being around Anise so often against his will was turning his brain into teenage girl mush. What a joke.

This was all absolutely ridiculous, and he would have to otherwise ignore the notion.

“Alright, Sync, sign here to finalize the document.” Anise hands him her pen and he accepts it gently.

Pressing his name into the document, he’s finally free from these idiots.

“Oh, Sync, we’re gonna get some food in town, did you want to tag along?” For a moment he doesn’t understand what he’s hearing. An invite? From the both of them? Seemed fake.

“Not really, we’ve already spent enough time together for one day.” He plays it coy, or at least tries to.

“It’s really no bother. Come, I insist.” Jade coos, his deceptive grin fooling possibly Anise but most certainly not Sync. He knew this man had a reason for this. Perhaps some way to divulge secrets that couldn’t be contained within the drawing room of Daath.

Something more sinister, more personal.

“I don’t know, I see enough of your group as it is.” Sync tries harder to avoid them.

“Our group?” Anise looks to Jade as if trying to find some answer from him. “Who have you been talking to? I mean, obviously me and Jade, for work, but Natalia is busy with her father’s work, and Guy’s over in Malkuth, isn’t he?”

“He’s in Malkuth?” Sync asks with a strange sense of urgency, and immediately regrets it. The two of them exchange a knowing look to each other, and he can feel his face heating up. He had said too much.

To think he kept coming all the way here from Malkuth, and for what? Certainly it wasn’t to see him, but even still… the thought still danced at the front of his mind.

Eugh, what was he thinking again?

“So you’ve been talking to Guy lately?”

“No, more like just bumping into him, constantly. I don’t know if he’s following me but if either of you see him tell him to mind his own business, would you?” Sync spits out as rude as he can, but the two don’t change their demeanor for a moment.

“See you around?” Anise asks, clearly trying badly to hide her devious grin.

Whatever she was planning, he wanted no part of it.

“Sure.” Is all he offers before walking off to his room.

By the time he’s back to his quarters, he can feel the embarrassment of his words truly taking their toll on him. He feels hot in the face, sick to his stomach, and more or less generally annoyed with everything.

He walks into his bathroom, turning on the sink to wash his face off. The water cools his nerves, his breathing calms. It’s all so stupid, but it’s nothing to worry about. So what if he had thought Guy to be something less annoying than the rest of that crew? So what if he had the most miniscule of interest in the man’s existence?

Looking up into the mirror, his thoughts stop.

The scar across his face, it was his fault. It was Guy’s fault.

He forgets he has it often, he avoids mirrors so as to never have to see his own reflection. Is it his own reflection? The face of Florian, of Ion, of his ‘brothers’, of his Original. It wasn’t his own face until he was marred like this. It was their face, all of them.

Running a finger across his scar, he smiles.

This makes this face his own.

This horrible gash, this memory of Hod, this memory of his own death. It’s all his own. He can’t help but let out a small laugh at the thought. This was all so ridiculous. Finding some kind of meaning to his existence in the form of deformation.

“Talk about ridiculous.” He can’t help but laugh at himself, but the smile won’t disappear from his face. It’s not a malicious smile. In fact, it’s almost sincere- not that he would ever admit it to himself.

That night he sleeps peacefully to the plucking of the music box.

**Author's Note:**

> For visual reference:  
> Sync, older - https://twitter.com/spectralsaint/status/970783337093697538


End file.
